


Of Joy and Fury

by only_freakin_donuts



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: After Chapter 98, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, I mean.... did I fix it though, Luisa is grieving, Post-Canon, Rose is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_freakin_donuts/pseuds/only_freakin_donuts
Summary: "I made a choice in that moment. And I don't know that I made the right one."Post S5/Chapter 98. Through lots of cups of lavender tea, therapy sessions, getting a new haircut, being an aunt– turning into Jane, damnit, writing alove story- and of course, the feeling that she isn't really ever alone, Luisa takes the time after that fateful night to learn to without Rose, and live with herself.
Relationships: Luisa Alver/Rose Solano
Comments: 21
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _"What if I'm tryin', but then I close my eyes  
>  And then I'm right back, lost in that last goodbye?  
> And what if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do?  
> What if I never get over you?" _
> 
> Thank you Bandit and Meg for the beta reads, and overall putting up with me (and a grouchy Luisa muse) ♡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But actually, it was a big deal. Rose was a big deal to her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Of joy and Fury! I'll be updating every Tuesday and Friday. Cry with me ♡

_She burned._

_And I’ll never forget it._

_She burned._

_And that wasn’t my intention._

_She burned._

_And… now I’m burning too._

Luisa lifts her fingers off the keyboard and sighs. That isn’t poetic, not intentionally anyway. It’s just her life right now. Since that fateful day, the first feeling she has when she wakes up in the morning, and the last one she feels before drifting into a dreamless sleep at night is a burning in her chest. Burning, beneath the wool of her mom’s forest green sweater. The irony of it does not escape her. 

Her doctor asked if she drank peppermint tea, as it was known to lessen anxiety but also known to cause heartburn. She suggested lavender instead. Luisa had been looking for a replacement anyway, the taste of menthol sent her back to the rooftop, to kissing Rose… before she burned.

With her fingers at rest, even with her second mug of strong-smelling, steaming purple in front of her, and music almost as old as she is echoing through the room, Luisa just feels... sad, and empty. This is the feeling she’s been running from, and yet it always seems to catch up with her. It makes sense when she looks at it– she’s grieving a woman she feels as though she has no right to grieve and feeling like no one in the world will listen to her if she even tries to speak up about it. This was why the doctor suggested writing, as a release. She’d started it soon after the incident, when she was able to form coherent thoughts again (somewhat, anyway).

_Keep those fingers moving, Luisa. Better those than your brain._

_-_

_It isn’t true that your cells regenerate every seven years. Trust me, I used to be a doctor; we broke down that myth in one of my first med school classes, and I actually wasn’t drunk for that. The truth is that your cells are constantly regenerating, some as often as every few days. Your stomach cells take two days to regenerate. Red blood cells take four months. Bones take ten years. Your brain… well, those cells stay forever._

_The point is, there will come a time when your body can’t recall the touch of a lost lover._

_It isn’t that the bones inside my body have forgotten the way my first night with Rose felt, it’s that they never knew. But my mind has that memory for life. I don’t know if that’s good or bad._

_Let me tell you about it. Settle in, sip a drink, make it alcoholic for me. I’ll take you back to night number one._

_-_

The direct aftermath of Rose falling to her death, was… well, bad, so Luisa was told. She doesn’t actually remember it. She remembers hearing screaming, hers mixed with Rose’s, and then just her own for a while after Rose’s voice had faded away. Next thing she knew, she was waking up to the sunrise, her back sore from sleeping on Raf and Jane’s couch, one of Mateo’s stuffies tucked lovingly in the crook of her arm. Her vocal chords stung from the strain. Everyone was still sleeping, so she pulled the blanket up, sat the stuffed monkey on the pillow, and bolted. 

Though she didn’t remember it, she knew Raf was good to her that night. He may not have understood why she was so distraught, why this was so traumatic for her, but he dealt with it. He took her home with him, made sure she calmed down, made her food– actually, that was Jane, but it was his idea. Then they never spoke of it again. And actually, she could count on one hand the amount of times she’d talked to Raf or Jane since that night. All of them about the wedding, none about how she was doing. As she said to them before the wedding, after all, it was no big deal.

But actually, it was a big deal. Rose _was_ a big deal to her. So was her family– always and undoubtedly– she wished she hadn’t had to choose between the two of them like that. She would choose her family again and again. But she never meant to have anybody’s blood on her hands, much less Rose’s. She wasn’t that type of person. She didn’t want to be, anyways.

There was this voice in her head; she woke up with it that morning on the couch, and it hadn’t left her alone since. _It’s okay,_ it told her. _I understand._ It was Rose’s voice, but it wasn’t Rose. Rose wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t think it was okay.

Then Rose upped her ante. Usually, when Luisa’s fingers lifted off the keys, that’s when she felt the sensation, the sinking and strange, yet vaguely embracing sensation that she wasn’t alone in her mind or in her apartment. Perfume, you could guess the type of flowery scent, lightly drifted through the air. A flash of crimson in the corner of her vision. She wasn’t alone. It both terrified and succoured her. Either way it occupied her.

-

_It’s funny, because even when she was alive, more times than not I was left feeling hopelessly, utterly alone. Even though I knew I wasn’t. It was easy to feel that way when she never belonged fully to me. I was a spoiled child; I never learned to share, much less the things I really, really wanted. I wanted connection, but never to give away things close to my heart to get it. No one seemed to understand that. Even though it feels pretty reasonable to me._

-

The steady stream of Luisa’s typing is interrupted by a knock at her door. She sighs, very quickly throws a hoodie on to hide the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra, and fumbles to answer it. “Coming, coming.”

She doesn’t expect a pint-sized little person to be standing on the other side, looking up at her with a big toothy grin. His dad is standing behind him, a coy smile of his own. “Hi, Auntie Luisa!”

“Hey, Mateo! What are you guys doing here?” The smile on her face feels forced. She’s usually so happy to see him and his smiling face, but…now? She’d just hit a writing groove. She’d just escaped real life for a little bit there.

“We got off school and you live close,” Mateo tells her excitedly. “My school is right down the street!” 

“Oh wow, that’s awesome! Come on in, guys.”

"Auntie Luisa, do you have snacks?” Mateo asks immediately, before she can even close the door.

It makes her laugh, she has to say. “I’m sure we can find something. I always have _some_ snacks.” 

Once returning to the living room, Mateo in tow clutching a bag of Swedish Fish, she pays two seconds of attention to Rafael. He doesn’t appear to be judging her at all. No, not the fact that her apartment was a mess, she hadn’t showered in three days and wasn’t dressed yet today, or the fact that she’d let his son snatch a bag of candy from her cupboard (and a bowl of baby carrots, in her defense!). She doesn’t acknowledge any of it. “How are you? And Jane? And the wedding planning?”

Rafael nods stoutly. “All going well. Jane’s got her whole book thing going on, she’s a little distracted. Life happens at funny times, you know?”

Luisa nods. “How’s Jane doing with her book?” she asks nonchalantly. “What _is_ writing a book like?”

“You’d have to ask her about that,” Raf smiles, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t know why she does it. It’s crazy to me, but that’s just cause it’s not my thing. To her it’s magic, to me it’s cold grilled cheese and eye strain headaches, and isolation and skipped showers. Speaking of which… can I get some water, Lu?” 

She nods. “Be right back, Mateo,” she says softly, a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looks up at her with two carrots tucked into his lip to look like walrus tusks. Man, she loves this kid. 

Rafael follows her into the kitchen just as she expects. He didn’t want water; he wanted an adult conversation. His eyes scan over her once more, and he bites his lip. 

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. It comes out more bitter than she meant it to. 

He shakes his head, rubs his hand on the back of his neck like he’s stressed out. “I worry about you more than I want to,” he says simply. 

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He looks at the full sink, mostly full of mugs or bowls, leftover soup and tea. He looks at _her_.

“I know, I know what it looks like, it looks like you should worry–”

“Are you sober? That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Yes I’m sober, of course!”

"Okay, I’m just making sure. You don’t seem like yourself.” 

“I haven’t been feeling the greatest.” It isn’t a lie. 

“We can go, if you want to rest–”

“No, stay, please.” Oh, she hopes he doesn’t hear the twinge of desperation in her tone. She wants them to stay, today in her apartment, forever in her life. That makes… all of this… worth it. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” he nods. His face says that he heard the desperation. Maybe if he were someone else, if _she_ were someone else _, if they were anyone else_ , he’d ask about it. But he doesn’t. He takes her words at face value and leaves it alone. 

“Do you wanna see my dress for the wedding?” she asks, changing the subject. The wedding is a safe topic. 

Raf smiles. “Sure, I’d love to.” 

So it goes for another hour or so, empty check-ins and platitudes, light topics and child-friendly explanations, until Jane snaps out of her own writing spree and realizes her fiance and her son aren’t home yet. Given that it isn’t possible they’d been kidnapped by a certain someone, she actually has to worry about other options.

“We dropped by my sister’s, we’ll be home soon.” Once Raf hangs up, he turns to his son. “I think that’s our cue to head home, buddy. Mommy’s waiting for us. Say bye to Auntie Luisa?” 

Mateo immediately leans in for a hug. “Bye, Auntie Luisa, feel better.”

Raf and Luisa meet eyes for a moment before she squeezes her nephew tight. Did Mateo hear their discussion in the kitchen earlier? “Thanks, little man. You visiting made me feel a whole ton better. I’ll see you at your mommy and daddy’s wedding.” 

“That’s in this many weeks!” he says, holding up his two pointer fingers. 

“Yeah it is! I’ll see you then, I love you.”

“Love you!” 

Raf catches the look on his sister’s face when Mateo says that, and it puts a similar smile on his face. He laughs a little bit and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I love you, too. I’ll see you in two weeks.” 

She nods. Holds her tongue for a moment. Then, “If you need any help, you call me. I’m glad to help.”

Raf responds as politely as he knows how to. He says _I won’t call you_ as politely as he can. “Thank you, I will.” 

Nothing changes once they leave. A light turned on inside her, having Mateo around– and she wishes she felt secure enough to reach out to Rafael about seeing him more often– but now that he’s gone, it’s fading again. That just leaves her with herself again. And, of course, that feeling that she isn’t quite alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Luisa, don’t scare me like that again. The world’s better with you in it, trust me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, I couldn't stop it /  
> Tried to figure it out /   
> But everything kept moving /  
> And the noise got too loud /  
> With everyone around me saying /  
> 'You should be so happy now'"

_ The thing is, wherever you are, you’re still there. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. You can’t run away, not truly. That really sucked for me, and it still does, but it sucked more for Rose. Wherever she went, there she was– her past and her future and her sins and her shortcomings. It's why we could never just... be us. Cause we were there. It’s why even after this chapter of my life is supposed to be over, it’s never really over. Everything that happened since Rose entered my life has shaped me into the person I’ve become, has shaped me into me. And wherever I go, I take myself with me. All of me. The parts I’m proud of and the parts I’m not; the parts I want to take, and the parts I don’t. _

_ - _

She wanted to move again. She’d lived here less than six months and the walls of this place were already stained red. Bad memories. Blood. Betrayal. 

But it was close to Mateo’s school.

Well, no one said she had to move  _ far,  _ She just wanted to get out of this apartment. Building. Street. Town. State. Country. Continent.

What?

Somewhere cold. Somewhere it snowed. Somewhere that when the air touched her face it would remind her that she’s alive. Rose may not be, but she is. 

This called for a shower. A cold shower. Actually, a cold bath, yes, a cold bath. Cold water stimulates anti-depressive hormones, wakes you up,  _ makes you feel alive. _ Yes, a cold bath was exactly what right now called for.

But now that she was in the tub, she didn’t know what to do, surrounded by her own thoughts and water that was supposed to feel frigid but wasn’t really that cold to her. Not silence, though, never silence. There were few times in her life that she’d ever experienced true silence. Her mind was always racing too fast for that, producing its own form of noise when it wasn’t available externally. Right now it was producing its own damn symphony; crashing cymbals, singing out of tune to rumbling drums, low percussion that was slowly building up to some form of crescendo. She just wanted it all to stop already, she needed a break. 

_ Hm _ .

Maybe if she slipped under the water, just for a minute, it would stop. Everything was quiet underwater, right?

Her mom would know. Would be nice to be able to ask her, wouldn’t it? 

The water on her face shocked her out of that thought. It  _ was  _ quiet, it was peaceful, even. The above-water sounds were all still there, but they were muffled, muted, they couldn’t quite reach her down here. She liked being unreachable, that wasn’t quite a secret– that’s what drew her to ashrams. And the best part of this? It seemed to be an exception to the whole “wherever you go, there you are” thing. (Another exception to that was getting drunk off her ass, but she wasn’t doing that anymore.) So this was as good as it got, and it  _ was _ pretty good…

_ “Luisa! Luisa!”  _

She draws a sharp inhale, surfacing as she hears her name. She hadn’t realized she’d been running out of air down there, she felt fine, and it hadn’t even felt like she was under too long. Her lungs thanked her for coming up, drawing in another deep breath.

_ Wait, who called me?  _

_ "Luisa, don’t scare me like that again. The world’s better with you in it, trust me.” _

She rubbed a spot on her head that ached slightly, as if that would do anything. All the noise is slowly starting to fade back in, unfortunately. 

“ _ The same could never be said about me.” _

She knows that voice now, once again a draft of perfume and a dash of red swept through the room and through the doorway. But there was nothing nor nobody in the doorway. 

“ _ Come on, get up. And get out of there, you’re going to freeze. Wrap yourself up in a blanket, make some tea.” _

And for some reason, she listened to her. She drained the tub, shrugged into her robe, brushed the tangles from her hair. She could swear she felt Rose’s fingers working their way through smooth, damp tresses, a feeling she fell asleep to many nights, many moons ago. 

To some degree, she felt comfort in the familiarity of it. To some other degree, it unsettled her and she never wanted to feel it again. 

She fell asleep wondering what would’ve happened if she hadn’t heard Rose calling her name. She could have died under there and she wouldn’t have even known, she wouldn’t have even really meant to. And then what, who would’ve noticed? Who would’ve come looking for her, and after how long? 

Who would’ve mourned her, and who would've missed her?

She felt a kiss on her cheek, just before drifting off to dreamland. It hit her around the same time the realization that she didn’t write even a word today did. 

_ Damnit, Rose. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Have you ever asked yourself why you can’t let go of me, why you’re staging this whole elaborate conversation thing that we’re doing? Surely admitting your feelings about me and my death would be easier than all of this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just came in to say, I really enjoyed writing this fic- despite it being challenging- because it gave Luisa a voice. That's why, despite it being what it was, I enjoyed chapter 77, because it gave us as readers the chance to hear Luisa's story on her own terms and in her own words. (And I don't fault JTV for not doing that more often, because she wasn't a main character. I mean they coulda let her have a _little_ more of a character though, really.)

_ Today is my brother’s wedding. It’s been three and a half weeks exactly since that night. I’ve been holding it together. Not great but okay. Today’s the second time I’ve actually been obligated to leave the house looking presentable and acting like everything is all great with me– The first was last night, for the rehearsal dinner. _

_ And everything is fine, for the most part. I’m happy for Rafael and Jane; today’s been a long time coming, and I’m glad they’re happy. All I’ve ever wanted for Raf was for him to meet a woman who makes him as happy as Jane does. They have the greatest love story ever told. _

_ - _

_ “How could you say that? That’s ours. Take that out. And your brother and Jane of all people?” Rose snorts. “That’s insulting, babe.”  _

“Shut up, Rose,” Luisa mumbles, trying to get a last bit of writing in before she has to leave for the wedding, sitting on the couch in her dress and heels. “I need five more minutes of quiet.” 

-

_ I’ll need something else to occupy myself now that the wedding’s over and Raf’s birth parents have been found. That was a good little project; it felt good to use my brain again. Now that it’s over I’m not quite sure what to do with my time. The summer months are rough, especially now. I need to keep busy. I’m taking yoga classes, they’re nice. As you know, I’m writing a lot. I’m averaging 1500 words a day. I made an appointment to get my hair done on Tuesday. I’m thinking of dying it– _

_ - _

She felt Rose’s fingers in her hair again. It was distracting her. 

-

_ I might cut it, too. I don’t know yet. What I do know is I should stop using this book as my own personal diary and get to the ceremony! Stop talking to my imaginary audience, ‘cause you probably don’t care about the details of my life, you came to hear about my love story with Rose, but the truth is–  _

_ - _

_ “You’re mad at me.” _

“I’m not mad at you,” Luisa mumbles, shutting her laptop for the day.  _ But no, you know what? _ “Yeah, actually I kind of am mad at you. Cause I’m freaking talking to you out loud and you’re dead. And that’s crazy behaviour.” She moves towards the door, ready to leave. “Don’t come with me. You aren’t welcome at the wedding.” 

_ “I can come for the car ride, though, so you aren’t alone.” _

“Of course, why don’t you,” Luisa mumbles, shutting her car door. She hopes no one heard that. “You know, Rose, I’m gonna have to get used to being alone. ‘Cause, you know.”

_ “You’re not alone. You really think I’d ever leave you alone?” _

“Stop!” She slams a palm on her steering wheel. “You aren’t here. I’m not alone, but it’s not because you’re still here. It’s because I have my family now.”

_ “Great company they’ve been.”  _

“Stop!” Not only is she talking to herself now, but now she’s  _ yelling _ to herself. 

“ _ Have you ever asked yourself why you can’t let go of me, why you’re staging this whole elaborate conversation thing that we’re doing? Surely admitting your feelings about me and my death would be easier than all of this.” _

Luisa can picture Rose sitting in her passenger seat, legs crossed, examining her fingernails nonchalantly, her gaze throwing knives.

“ _ Is it because the opposite of pushing me over is pulling me in close?” _

She can physically feel Rose getting closer to her, as if she’s whispering in her ear for only them to hear. She takes a deep breath, not allowing herself to become overwhelmed. “I need you to stop talking.” 

“ _ Make me.”  _

The cars zoom and screech in front of them, their own car jolting. They both sigh in relief. "I really need you to stop talking. We almost got into a car wreck. I can't get into a car wreck, not today." 

_ "Because today is Rafael's special day."  _

"Yes, today is Raf's special day! He would notice I was gone today. Not to mention the fact that I value my life."

_ "We both hope.”  _ A pause. “ _ Enjoy yourself for me. You look beautiful."  _

And of course, Rose's compliments bring a smile to her face, as they always do. It was sad that no one else’s compliments felt as sincere as a damn sociopath's, but she knew Rose always meant it when she told her she was beautiful, or special, or loved. Even now. "Thank you, I will."

She leaves Luisa with flushed cheeks with a smile, the way she always intended to. In the moment, Luisa didn’t feel that bad; she was having her cake and eating it too. She got to be with her family, and she got to be Rose. Even if just in a place only they knew.

\--

_ The Caymans. A place only we knew. We could've spent the rest of our lives there. I got in the way of that, when I thought Raf– when I was told that Raf's cancer had come back, and I made us come back to Miami. If I hadn't gotten that call, I don't know where we would be today, I don't know where I'd be. Writing this on the beach, probably, under an umbrella with a virgin margarita in my hand. Maybe I wouldn't be writing this at all, I wouldn't need to. I'd have her, we'd be in love, and that's all that would matter.  _

_ But, that wasn’t the way life turned out.  _

_ I could still go write on the beach. I could go write in a cafe. I could go write in a bar. Maybe not a bar. Someone else could go write in a bar, but maybe not me. Though I want to. I really want to today.  _

_ \-- _

_ “Stop it, no, you don’t.”  _

“Yeah, I do Rose, I’m a recovering alcoholic and I want to drink more days than not, you should know that by now. Especially when I’m bored.”

_ “Go to a meeting, I’ll come with you. I could even get into a closed one.”  _ She laughs to herself. She stops when she realizes Luisa isn’t laughing with her. “ _ Seriously, you should go to a meeting.”  _

Luisa laughs now, turning her desk chair to face Rose, who’s lying on her bed. It’s that laugh she only does when she’s anxious and on the edge. “You think?” She huffs. “That requires getting dressed and driving there. And socializing. And I don’t know that I have the energy to do that right now.”

Rose pouts. “ _ Have you… do you need help? Like, from a professional? You don’t… seem like yourself, right now. You haven’t since…” _

“Since what?” Luisa asks. “Since I was responsible for your death?” She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. It’s the first time she’s cried since… since that night, since being up on the balcony and being in the moment. “How can I?” 

Rose reaches a hand out, even though she can’t quite reach. That feels fitting for the moment, for their whole relationship really; reaching out but not reaching.  _ “I don’t blame you, for what happened.” _

“ _I blame me!_ I pushed you. If I hadn't pushed you, you wouldn’t have died, it’s that simple.” 

“ _ It was all a really unfortunate series of accidents, really– you didn’t expect the statue to impale me, you certainly didn’t expect the stage to light on fire. You didn’t mean to cause that much damage, Lu, I know that. And I can forgive that.” _

“It doesn’t matter my intentions, it still happened.”

“ _ Hey, half of a guilty verdict in law is determining intention, it definitely matters.”  _

Luisa wipes her eyes again. She  _ hates  _ that she’s crying in front of…. She hates that she’s crying. “I didn’t even push that hard,” she whispers. “You shouldn’t have hit the statue, you should’ve hit the stairs. At most, the risk for fatal injury was low, with the exception of a bad concussion or a broken back, which were both low probability–”

_ “Lu, stop. You don’t need to justify anything.” _

“Except that I do. To convince myself that I didn’t mean to murder you in cold blood.” 

“ _ Murder’s a harsh word. You aren’t a murderer, Luisa Alver.”  _

Luisa feels Rose’s lips brush against her cheek, damp from the crying. This is when she knows– this isn’t Rose, not really. This was all in her mind. This is how she wanted Rose to be, not how she actually was. Rose wouldn’t have forgiven her for this, would she? Rose wouldn’t just tell her everything was forgiven and kiss her cheek, wipe her tears; she’d probably turn on her, the way she turned on everyone else. Kill her, if she could. Make her pay. 

Then again, Rose was always different with her than she was with everyone else, so,  _ so  _ different. And it didn’t matter, anyway. ‘Cause Rose was dead. She murdered her. 

“ _ Can we get back to the real topic here? You need to start taking better care of yourself. You can’t live off microwave meals and tea forever. You need to get out more, go to meetings again. Talk to people, real people. Can you promise me you’ll at least try?” _

Luisa nods. “Yeah, I promise. I’m going out tomorrow. And I want to go to meetings. I want to make friends. I want to get a job.” 

Rose nods.  _ “I’m glad to hear it. Give the writing a rest for tonight. Get some sleep.” _

Luisa shakes her head. “I can’t yet.” She pauses for a moment. “Stay here with me? While I finish up?”

Rose nods again, getting comfy on the bed while Luisa sits at her desk. She stays until Luisa’s finished her chapter and also settled into bed, drifting off to sleep. She presses another kiss to her cheek.

And then she fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Hey there, Mr. Tin Man  
>  You don't know how lucky you are  
> You shouldn't spend your whole life wishin'  
> For something bound to fall apart  
> Everytime you're feeling empty  
> Better thank your lucky stars  
> If you ever felt one breakin'  
> You'd never want a heart"_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Like a ghost, or a therapist? Luisa asks, chuckling lightly. As if she’s 100% joking, as if she 100% isn’t talking to a ghost and 100% is talking to a therapist._

_ See, here’s the thing. I am a confident person in most aspects of my life. But funny enough, Rose and I were exact opposites in that aspect– the things I was not confident in, she was. The things she wasn’t confident in, I was. So we filled in each other’s gaps. Not to mention, all the parts of myself I didn’t exactly love, she did. ‘Cause that’s what she did. She loved me.  _

_ We’re straying from the topic here. _

_ Did I even have a topic? What was I planning to talk about? This book is falling apart along with my life, I’m sorry. But hey, I guess this is what editors are for. _

_ Oh! Right! I remember what I was going to say now. I was going to say that I don’t know how Rose changed her hair so often and it didn’t bother her. In the time I knew her, she went from red to black to blonde and back again, grew it out, cut it off, left it natural, heat-styled the crap out of it. Her looks weren’t tied to her identity and I guess that was a good thing. But, then again, I don’t think she had much of an identity at all, and that’s not a good thing. _

_ Me on the other hand… _

_ I look almost the same as I did twenty years ago, and my looks are tied to my identity. I get my hair done maybe twice a year and I’m really simple. I like my hair long and my natural colour. ‘Cause that’s the way my mom kept her hair, and I remember thinking she was beautiful.  _

_ I’m getting off topic again! See, the dye is getting to my brain, my brain’s gonna be purple like the ends of my hair are. I thought I was done with colorful hair after college, I never thought I’d be a 42-year-old woman with partially purple hair.  _

_ I never thought I’d be here at all. Somedays I didn’t even think I’d stay alive to see 42.  _

_ Now I’m wallowing again. This is all to be deleted. This all sucks.  _

_ - _

When she bopped her forehead on the table, it made her hair tickle her neck. She didn’t like it. Her hair wasn’t even that short, it just…  _ did that _ … when she had her head down like this. She’d wanted to go that short, then she talked herself out of it. Too much change.

Oh, but dying the ends purple and cutting six inches off  _ wasn’t  _ too much change. 

Her hairdresser was a nice guy but he was a liar. Six inches was a lot.  _ Six inches to the left and Rose wouldn’t have been impaled, so how bout that, Max? Six inches and she might not be dead.  _

_ - _

_ Hair grows about six inches a year. Do you think by the time my hair grows back to the length it was, I’ll be over her? Do you think everything will hurt less by then?  _

_ - _

Usually that’s the time when Rose would have something witty or something comforting to say. Or she’d run her fingers through the ends of her hair, the ends that weren’t there anymore. It’s funny how quickly she’d gotten used to Rose’s presence. Desperation made you do strange things, huh? 

“Rooose, where are youuuu?” Luisa calls quietly.

Nothing. Radio silence. Absolute dust. She was actually alone for the first time in a while… and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wasn’t sure she liked it. 

"Rose?” 

She’d wondered what Rose would think of her hair. She’d wondered before she’d done anything to it at all. Her opinion shouldn’t matter, she knew it shouldn’t matter… but it did. It still did. 

“Rose, what do you think?” She runs her hands through her hair; she’s done that a lot in the last few hours; she isn’t used to the length yet. It feels different, like everything else does.

  
Her phone rings and startles her. The timing is impeccable. It’s just Jane, though.  _ Why is Jane calling? _

“Hey Jane!” Her voice sounds fake, even to her own ears. 

“Hey, Luisa. Listen, I really hate to ask you this, I don’t want to be a bother– would you go get Mateo from school? I’m stuck at work, Rafael’s showing a house, I don’t have my mom and dad around anymore. He’s complaining a belly ache, he should be pretty low energy–”

“Jane, of course, it’s fine. I can keep him here as long as you need, don’t rush.” 

“Thank you  _ so  _ much. I’ll be by to pick him up as soon as I can. Do you mind texting me your address again, and just keeping me updated?”

She bites her tongue.  _ What, you trust me but not that much?  _ “Of course. Is there anything– is there anything specific he likes when he’s sick? I don’t know, I don’t have a lot of experience with him, with any kids really–”

“It’s nice of you to ask,” Jane acknowledges. “Just rest, maybe a movie. Make sure he drinks water. I gotta go, but you’ll be fine, give him a kiss for me. I’ll be there soon as I can.” 

-

The walk down the street is too quiet. Rose was still nowhere to be… heard, felt, seen. Probably for the best, if Mateo is around. Those are always the two colours of Luisa’s life that mixed pretty bad. Mateo’s quiet as he spots her walking into the office, reaching his arms out for her to scoop him up. The secretary smiles, making eye contact with Mateo. “It seems pretty obvious, but I still have to ask. Mateo, do you know who this is?”

“My Auntie Luisa who made me get born,” he answers, his voice pouty and tired as he leans his head on her shoulder. “She’s gonna take me home.” 

“We’re actually gonna go back to my place, buddy,” Luisa tells him. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride if you want. Yeah?”

He nods, and she transfers him over to her back, instinctively going to move her hair out of the way. Whoops, that’s not a concern. 

“Okay, let’s march on home.”

-

“Auntie Luisa,” Mateo starts, about halfway home.

“Yeah, bud?” She tries not to breathe too heavily. Who knew, a slightly uphill walk with a six year old on your back isn’t easy.

“Your hair is purple!” 

They laugh together for a minute. “Yeah, it is, just a little bit purple.” 

“That’s  _ cool _ !”   
  


She likes being the “cool aunt”. She always told Rafael she would be his kids’ cool aunt; they had talked about it a lot, actually, even up to when he was diagnosed with cancer and had to harvest his sperm if he ever wanted to keep his half of the dream alive. _“Raf,”_ she’d told him, “ _You know_ _I’d be happy being an aunt to your dog one day. I just want us to be as close as we’ve always been.”_

It was simpler back then.  __

  
“Auntie Luisa are you still sick, too?” Mateo asks, when they’re home and snuggling into a blankie on the couch. 

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She wouldn’t have wanted to be lied to at that age– this is the age she was when her mom died, and she remembers even at that age just preferring the truth over lies and schemes and sugarcoats. But she also doesn’t know how to explain it all to Mateo in a way that he’ll get. “I’m not better yet,” she admits, “But I’m getting better.”

“Were you actually travelling?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. “Or were you sick for a really long time?” 

_ And you know what, just like that, sometimes lying is justified. _ “I was actually travelling!” she tells him. “You see that big cloth on the wall? It’s called a tapestry, and I got it in Italy. That’s where your dad was born, actually!” 

“Really?” he asks.

“Really! Italy has the  _ best _ pizza. And ice cream!” 

“I like pizza and ice cream!” A mischievous, guilty little grin spreads across his face. “Do you have any ice cream, Auntie Luisa? I think it would make my tummy feel much better.” 

“Are you sure it won’t make your tummy more upset?” she asks him sternly, as if he isn’t just a six year old with a sweet tooth.

“I’m sure, I’m sure!”

  
If she didn’t love that grin so much, she’d probably counter offer him soup and crackers (chicken noodle soup and goldfish crackers used to be her favourite, well out of her childhood years. Pretty much until she went vegan, actually. Goldfish were almost enough for her to go right back to a regular diet.)

“Okay. I may only have vanilla, though, is that okay?”

“That’s okay!”

  
She scoops out bowls for the both of them, then.

She really needs to start loving herself again and buying chocolate ice cream. Or better yet, that dairy-free fudge Ben and Jerry’s that she always sees but never buys. 

  
When Jane comes, almost two hours later, Mateo has fallen asleep with his head on Luisa’s leg, a trace of white ice cream around his mouth and  _ Moana _ playing in the background. Jane chuckles and scoops him up, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead.

“I hope you don’t mind, I gave him ice cream,” Luisa guiltily admits.

Jane smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you again for getting him.”

“Anytime, honestly. We had a good afternoon.” 

Mateo stirs, realizing he isn’t on the couch anymore, but in his mom’s arms. “Mommy?” 

“Hi baby, go back to sleep. We’re gonna leave Auntie Luisa’s now and go home.” 

Mateo waves a sleepy goodbye, his eyes still closed. “Mommy?” he asks. “Can I make my hair a little bit purple like Auntie Luisa’s?”

Jane laughs. “We’ll talk about it another day, how bout that?” To Luisa, she adds, “Your hair looks nice, by the way, I meant to say it when I walked in. That length really suits you. I cut mine like that after Michael– after Michael died. It, uh, served me well.”

“Thank you.” She can just leave it there, she really can. She really  _ should _ . But. “It’s the  _ someone I loved died _ haircut, I guess.” 

  
Jane doesn’t know how to respond to that, it’s written all over her face. “Are you… talking to someone, about that, can I ask that?”

“Like a ghost, or a therapist? Luisa asks, chuckling lightly. As if she’s 100% joking, as if she 100%  _ isn’t  _ talking to a ghost and 100%  _ is _ talking to a therapist. “Um, no, but, I should be.” 

“I know a really nice lady, I can give you her card, she helped me when– when Michael died.” 

“I know a lady too, actually. I’m no stranger to being in therapy.” She tries to laugh again, it doesn’t come easily. This is the first time…. ever... that someone has asked her about her grief situation, the first time someone acknowledged it. It isn’t much, but it's enough to almost bring her to tears. “Thanks, Jane, don’t worry about me.”

_ Please worry about me. _

“Take care of yourself,” Jane nods. 

  
And once Jane and Mateo leave, it’s just silence once again. An empty apartment that’s too big for her at 700 square feet and she feels like she’s going… crazy, she feels like she’s going crazy. She hasn’t wanted to use that term yet but it feels right in this moment, when she’s hoping for the ghost of her dead…. her dead  _ Rose _ … to appear and hating that she isn’t here, but also hating when she was.

And now this apartment feels too big and her hair feels too short and everything feels way too quiet except for the noise in her brain that never freakin’ stopped. And she has a mug of lavender tea that she doesn’t even want, it isn’t her regular tea, but her regular tea tastes like death now.  _ And she still has heartburn anyway. And she has no one to ask for help; she’s drowning and waving her arms and everyone on the shore is waving back at her thinking she’s saying hi when really she’s asking for a life ring, she’s asking for help– _

She needs help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen I wanted to put lyrics to My Tears Ricochet by Miss T Swift down here but I couldn't find poignant ones so let me just say that song is on my sad roisa playlist and it should be on yours too, the end. ( _"You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same."_ )


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see her, sometimes, in the room with me, and, like, I know she isn’t there– this isn’t like when I used to hallucinate, this Rose that I’m seeing isn’t like Carla was. I know she isn’t there, I just… I’m still seeing her and hearing her voice in my ear and I smell her perfume, or her shampoo. And she talks to me, I can have a conversation with her if I want to and I do sometimes because I have no one else to talk to and she listens, she’s always listened to me. And we had a talk about letting her go, and she asked if I’m doing this because the opposite of pushing her over is pulling her in close. How can I let her go when I am the reason she isn’t here, Maggie? How am I supposed to feel okay moving on when it’s my fault that she can’t? How am I supposed to do that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to @cerseisdaughter, thanks for being a real one! I'm glad you're enjoying Luisa's healing journey so far 🖤last chapter goes up on Fridaaaay!
> 
> and yes, Dr. Maggie Bloom is a cameo character from a show you may or may not know. If you have never heard of/watched A Million Little Things, I 1000% recommend it. It's about love in hard times. It talks about important things and the power of friendship. And I have a ship there and they're cute. If you don't know Maggie, no worries, her canon isn't mandatory to know here, she's just Lu's therapist. (Did I also make mention of Alana Bloom from Hannibal? Maybe.)

_ As I said to Jane, I’m no stranger to therapy. I’ve been in and out of it since I was in college, starting in those campus clinics with the free therapists who acted like they understood you but really they just thought you were a poor, sweet disaster and too young to be that sad or that drunk or that messed up. There are different breeds of therapists. There are those ones. There’s the fancy guys who overcharge because they think they have the right to, ‘cause they went to school for a few extra years. And most of them busted their asses and worked hard for their extra qualifications; they’re good doctors, and good doctors are hard to come by. And some could afford to just skid their way through. They came from privilege. I would know how that goes.  _

_ Then there are couples and family counsellors. Those people are the real ones, they’re the emotional garbage men of society, the ones who have to go empty those big dumpsters out back at malls and movie theatres and apartment buildings and hospitals. Every time I went to rehab or was in an institution, more times than I can count on one hand, there was at least one mandatory session with a family counsellor. My father used to come to those, while he could, of course. He participated. Raf came, put up with it with a grin, said all the right things, and charmed all the right people. Including me, at first. The last time I went to treatment, no one came to my family session because I didn’t have anyone left who wanted to.  _

_ Rose came to one once, with my father. There was so much stuff I wanted to say, but I wanted my father to leave. I didn’t want a family session, I wanted a couples session. I still wish we’d gotten just one, and I think it would’ve helped us. _

_ Not that Rose would’ve ever agreed to it. She’s too shrewd for that, and she didn’t want people to know our business. Or, her business, really, I have no shame or secrecy left. I don’t know that it would’ve changed anything because I don’t think lack of communication was ever our issue– you have to be good with communication if you’re tying each other up in bed, you know, the B in BDSM might as well stand for boundaries– but it would’ve been a space for us to unpack. We were always packing it in, packing our suitcases, running away, motels and submarines and islands. We never had a safe space to lay it all down and sort through it, like stable adults in a stable relationship. Which we were never. _

_ - _

“This is a completely, absolutely safe space for you. I just want you to know and always remember that.”

_ There are different breeds of therapists. Some of them have gentle smiles and bubblegum pink hair. Some of them are Dr. Maggie Bloom.  _

Maggie was recommended to Luisa by her previous psychologist, who was retired now. She said good doctors ran in the family. “ _ Trust me, she’s great. She’s more knowledgeable about grief and all that than anybody I’ve ever met, and she’s the sweetest. And she’s got pink hair that makes her look like a little fairy. You’ll be in good hands.”  _

“And I just want to say that I’m sorry for your loss, first and foremost.” 

  
A chuckle escapes her lips before she can stop it, but when she stops to think about it… it isn’t funny. Most people wouldn’t be laughing right now. Most people had heard that sentence 20 times before the body was even cold. Like with Jane last week, though, Luisa isn’t used to people acknowledging that she was grieving yet, and certainly not feeling sorry that Rose is dead, or sorry for her loss.  _ No one was sorry _ . 

“Where did you just go?” Maggie asks quietly, almost in a whisper, as she looks for Luisa’s eyes. 

Luisa shakes her head. “Nowhere, just, into my own head.” 

“You don’t have to keep it all inside.” She has that same tone Alana used to, Luisa wonders how in the world they taught that in shrink school. Are they tested on it? Is it a graduation requirement? 

“Honestly? I was thinking that you’re the first person to say  _ sorry for your loss _ to me. In the five and a half weeks since she died.” 

“She died,” Maggie repeats slowly. 

Luisa nods. “Yeah, she died.” 

“She  _ died _ .” 

"She died.”

“Does that feel real yet?”

_  
No. Yes. Some of it, most of it. No, not most of it. You don’t understand.  _

  
“That’s a really big question,” Maggie acknowledges. “We can work towards that.” 

“Have you ever had a murderer sit in this spot?” 

Well that certainly shuts the pink-haired pixie up for a moment. “A-are you trying to confess–” 

“No, no.”  _ No, I’ve already done that.  _ “Not…” She takes a deep breath.  _ Reel it in, Luisa.  _ “I didn’t mean to,” she whispers. “I wasn’t thinking about it.” 

Maggie’s eyes widen, a way they’re probably not supposed to. She was probably conditioned against that in shrink school. 

“It’s not a secret, don’t worry.”

Maggie nods. She looks almost relieved. 

“And if you knew her, you might even say it was justified. She was an international crime lord, she wasn’t gonna roll over and die of cancer or something.” 

Maggie nods along again, pretending that she heard this kind of stuff everyday. “Do you think it’s justified? Kill and be killed?”

“It sounds barbaric when you say it that way, geez,” Luisa snorts. “No, I don’t think it’s justified. Unlike everyone else in my life seems to.” She purses her lips, juts her chin out, flicks a purple-tipped wave out of her face, and in that moment, it feels so much like a reaction Rose would’ve had. 

_  
Damnit, she’s like a scent I can’t scrub off my skin, a scratch in the back of my throat that I can’t get rid of. It feels like no amount of water is going to fix it, no amount of water is going to drown her away. She’s a part of me now– subtle at first, but noticeable if you pay attention. I’m noticeably not the same person I was before Rose.  _

But Maggie doesn’t know who that person is, Maggie thinks this is just…  _ her _ . 

"Why don’t you tell me a little bit about her?” Maggie asks. “Like you would if she were still with us.” 

_ I don’t want you to think any less of her. Or me.  _ “You wouldn’t like her if you knew her.”

“It isn’t up to me to like her. I don’t have to like her to help you. You liked her, that’s what matters.”

“And most times, I think she liked me too,” Luisa muses.

_  
“Oh stop it, I always loved you.” _

_ Yeah, but did you always like me? No, of course you didn’t. Now please butt out of my therapy session, Rose, some things are private. _

_  
_ “I’m sorry,” Luisa mumbles. “I know I’m not being very responsive. I don’t know how to be right now. My  brain feels like a tangled up ball of yarn.”

“That’s okay,” Maggie answers. “That’s what we’re doing here, untangling the yarn. It’s okay.”

Luisa smiles slightly. “It’s red yarn,” she says softly. “Red like Rose’s hair.” 

“That’s nice,” Maggie agrees. “Look at us bunch of colourful-haired women.” 

That makes Luisa smile a little, almost bashfully. Then Maggie shifts back into therapist mode.

“Can I ask how her funeral went, or rather, the matter around laying her to rest?”

“It didn’t,” Luisa admits. “There was no funeral. The body was, um… the body was…” She doesn’t want to picture Rose’s dead, charred, bloodied body. When she does that, she ends up with nightmares. And heartburn. “There was no one who would want to come to a service anyway. No family. And I wasn’t in a place to advocate for any sort of arrangements after.”

“So, what I’m hearing, correct me if this is inaccurate– is that you’re experiencing a lack of closure.”

Luisa nods. That just about summed it up. “It feels like I’m standing in the middle of a graveyard, but it’s missing the one grave I’m there to see.”

“What if the grave just isn’t marked?” Maggie asks. When it looks like Luisa isn’t following, Maggie steps in again. “I think we may have to start at the beginning here, properly settle that she is dead, before you can move on to mourn her and move into an easier stage of grief.” 

  
Luisa tips her head back a little, shutting her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry, though Maggie’s probably plenty used to it. She doesn’t want to shed any more tears on this issue, it’s been too long. 

“Let it out.” It’s as if Maggie knows she’s holding it in. “That’ll help. That I  _ can _ promise.” She gently slides a box of tissues across the table, just to let Luisa know they’re there.

“Can I give you a homework assignment?” Maggie asks, as the hands on the clock creep into position to end their time together this week. 

Luisa nods. She expected as much.  _ No stranger to therapy. _

“Write her a eulogy.”

_  
I don’t want to,  _ Luisa wanted to scream.  _ I don’t want to because that means she’s really dead. And I don’t want to admit that.  _ But she doesn’t say that, instead she just nods. “Do I have to read it out loud?” 

“You don’t have to read it out loud to me, or to any person, but I would like you to say the words. Even if you’re just talking to a houseplant, or a garden gnome, or a…. frying pan. I just think it would help you gain some closure and some control of the situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” Luisa agrees. “Gotta say, Dr. Bloom, I appreciate you but that doesn’t mean I like you right now.”

“I’ll take that,” Maggie smiles. “Same time next week?” 

“Same time next week,” Luisa agrees graciously. Can Maggie see the look of distraction on her face? 

  
Her gears are already churning about this homework assignment she’s agreed to. Why did she agree to it? She isn’t a writer. She isn’t Jane. She isn’t perfect. 

_ “I don’t need perfect, baby, I just need you. You know I love you just the way you are.” _

_ No, I don’t know it, it’s not like you said it very much,  _ Luisa grumbles to herself.  _ But, I said it less. And God, I should’ve said it while you were alive to hear it. Why didn’t I say it? _

  
“Dr. Bloom, before I go,” Luisa starts, wiping at her eyes, “do you think Rose knew? That I loved her?” 

Maggie leans forward, her face softening in a look of concern. “I’m sure she knew, Luisa. What makes you question that?”

“Because I never said the words.” She shrugs it off, not daring to make eye contact. “And I pushed her off a freakin’ roof– that doesn’t exactly scream  _ I love you _ , damnit.” 

“Can I ask you… do you know why you did it? You said you didn’t mean to, but what was going through your mind?”

“Incidentally enough, it was that I loved her,” Luisa mumbles, now staring straight ahead. Her eyes feel weighed down by the tears. “I also love my family, though. I love being able to have a relationship with them. I made a choice in that moment. And I don’t know that I made the right one.” 

  
Luisa never wants to see the look that she sees on Maggie’s face again, that look of  _ pity _ , and sorrow. It is literally Maggie’s job to feel sorry for her and it was what Luisa came here for, and yet she absolutely hates it. She doesn’t deserve it. Guess that's something else they’ll have to work out in the coming weeks; that’s exactly the kind of baggage you drop at your therapist’s door.

“We’ll get there,” Maggie tells her softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Thank you.” Her voice catches in her throat; she can’t help it. She just… sobs, her tears staining the beige armchair and her sweater, her mom’s forest green sweater. “I’m sorry I’m crying, I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Why shouldn’t you be crying, who says that? I’ve got lots of tissues,  _ let it out.  _ Allow yourself this release. Can you say it out loud with me? Big, deep inhale,  _ I allow myself this release,  _ and exhale. Okay? Can we do that?”

Luisa nods, trying to collect some strength in her lungs as Maggie counts them into a breath. “ _ I allow myself this release.” _

“And again, inhale…”

“I allow myself this release.”

“And exhale. Good job, Luisa, keep going.”

Deep breath. “I… don’t allow myself this release!”

“And why not?”  
  


Maggie doesn’t look surprised that Luisa’s said that. She doesn’t even look peeved that they’re going over on time; her eyes stay focused and gracious, her lips slightly pursed and her eyebrows slightly raised, peeking out underneath her pink bangs. 

Luisa shakes her head.  _ Here goes nothing.  _ “I see her, sometimes, in the room with me, and, like, I know she isn’t there– this isn’t like when I used to hallucinate, this Rose that I’m seeing isn’t like Carla was. I know she isn’t there, I just… I’m still seeing her and hearing her voice in my ear and I smell her perfume, or her shampoo. And she talks to me, I can have a conversation with her if I want to and I do sometimes because I have no one else to talk to and she  _ listens _ , she’s always listened to me. And we had a talk about letting her go, and she asked if I’m doing this because the opposite of pushing her over is pulling her in close.  _ How can I let her go when I am the reason she isn’t here, Maggie? _ How am I supposed to feel okay moving on when it’s my fault that she can’t? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Luisa, you have every,  _ every  _ right to feel guilty–”

“Of course I do, Maggie, I  _ am  _ guilty!” 

“Luisa, what I’m saying is that it’s good to acknowledge the guilt. It’s a feeling, it’s a valid feeling for anyone to have, especially as part of the grieving process. You know they say there’s a time for everything. And I would guess that would include guilt. But you know what else it includes?”

Luisa looks up, acknowledging that she heard her. 

“It includes feeling joy again. It includes feeling okay about Rose’s death.” 

“And that’s what I’m here in therapy for,” Luisa nods, wiping her eyes once and for all. “To help me get there. Right?” 

“That’s a good goal. I’m really looking forward to seeing the progress you make.”

“I’ll try to do the homework for you, Doc. I’ll really try.” 

“That’s all I can ask. I’ll see you next week, Luisa. Have a good one.”

  
When she’d walked here, it looked like it was going to rain. But now that she is leaving the tall, narrow building that Dr. Bloom’s office resides in, the skies are bright and sunny and she feels strange wearing her sweater. She takes it off, carries it home, and rests it gently on a hanger in her closet. For later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I release you from the darkness  
>  From the love that we swore was true  
> I hope that, someday, the sun will shine again  
> And you'll release me, too"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I have to believe that sometime, when my body’s forgotten what her touch felt like, and my brain can’t quite recreate her voice anymore or the exact pattern the freckles on her shoulders made, when my hair’s grown back to the length she remembers it being, that I will still be here and I will still be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _When I forgive myself for all I did and didn't do  
>  Honey, that's when I'll quit missing you"_
> 
> Thank you for making it to end of the journey with Luisa and I! (It isn't the end of her journey, obviously, it's just the end of me writing it down.) Hope to be back soon with new stuff– maybe one sooner than later!

_ Sunny days are here to stay, maybe. Maybe I don’t need you anymore. _

_ Not you, Rose, obviously. I’m talking about my mom’s sweater. I’ve had a few good cries in that sweater, recently and through the years. I’m sure she did too. But I think I’m going to put it in the closet for a little while, at least. The sun’s coming out, and it’s too warm for a sweater like that one. I’ll put on a sundress instead, maybe the lavender one you used to like? It’ll match my hair now. I’m starting to come around on the purple; not so much the length, though. _

_ But here’s what I’m learning. Hair grows, and seasons change. Like Maggie said, there’s a time for everything, and eventually that time will pass. Grief isn’t quite like time and it doesn’t quite pass in the same fashion, but it gets… easier, to live with. When I’m using my logical brain and I think back to the time after my mother died, there came a time when thinking about her didn’t make me tear up and run for my father anymore, there came a time when she didn’t rule my thoughts anymore. I didn’t want to cry whenever I saw colourful fish or sugar skulls– even though I still think of her when I see either of those things. I smile now, it makes me feel like she isn’t really gone. How can she be, when there are still sugar skulls being sold on the boardwalk that sparkle and catch the sunlight and colourful fish that swim up to the shore and tickle my feet?  _

_ So I imagine one day it’ll be the same with you, Rose. There will come a day when I walk past the vending machine in the hallway and I consider buying powdered donuts again, because I like them. They won’t make me think about her anymore. Maybe there will even come a time when wintergreen tic tacs no longer taste like burning and betrayal. Better days will come, I have to believe that. I have to believe that sometime, when my body’s forgotten what her touch felt like, and my brain can’t quite recreate her voice anymore or the exact pattern the freckles on her shoulders made, when my hair’s grown back to the length she remembers it being, that I will still be here and I will still be okay. And things will be better. _

  
A knock on the door interrupts her typing. There’s only one person that could be– or rather, one person and his mini twin. Especially at this time of day, when school had just let out. 

“Hey, guys!” 

Mateo immediately raises his arms so he can be easily scooped up into a big bear hug. Mateo and Raf have started coming by about once a week after school, and Mateo’s hugs have become Luisa’s favourite part of her week. Her and Raf’s interactions are limited, but consistent. In this exact order, they consist of greetings, then “how are you”s, to which Luisa always responds that she is good, and always asks how Jane is– to which the answer is always a quick “she’s the same”, so he can get to his next question, “how’s therapy going?”. The fate of these after school visits always feels like it rests on her answers, so she tries to be honest but put a little lipstick on it. 

“It’s hard,” she simply sighs today. 

“How’s that writing homework going?”

“That’s also hard. It’s hard to sum up everything I want to say properly. I don’t know how Jane does it. That wife of yours might be magic.” 

Raf laughs. “Well, I knew that. It doesn’t have to be good, though, you don’t have to read it to anyone, do you?”

“My therapist wants me to read it out loud, even if it’s just to one of my plants.” 

“You could read it to me?” 

_ He can’t be serious.  _ She actually laughs out loud a little bit; he can’t seriously be offering to listen to her obituary for Rose? Rose, the woman he  _ hated _ , one half of the love story he never understood nor supported. Is this some sort of joke? 

“No,” she responds politely. “I won’t make you listen to that.” 

“Why not? You know they don’t usually recommend dirty details when memorializing the dead, right?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Luisa reprimands him with a shy smile on her face. “Just, this is really personal, and I don’t know that I’m comfortable sharing it with anybody other than the houseplants. They can’t judge me.” 

Raf nods. He’s probably secretly relieved; he probably doesn’t want to actually hear his sister put this woman on a pedestal she so clearly didn’t deserve. “If you change your mind, I’ve got two ears available to you, anytime you want them.”

“Thank you.”

"And I don’t know that I’ve said it yet,” Raf adds, his voice low, “but you were put in a really horrible position that night on the roof. You never should have been in that position. I’m sorry you went through that.”

That had to have been the most considerate, carefully worded apology he could’ve possibly put together, especially on short notice like this. Luisa doesn’t care. It’s more than she ever expected out of him. “Thank you,” she replies again, a little taken aback. 

“And I just want you to be happy, Lu. And healthy. That’s all I want for you. It looks like you’re on your way there.” He looks around the apartment, her countertops clear of dirty dishes and clutter, and her– the fact that she’s wearing real clothes and a bra and putting some effort into herself again. 

Mateo takes this opportunity to clamber back into his aunt’s lap from his spot sitting on the floor. “I’m happy you’re feeling better too!” 

“Thank you, bud! And thank you, Raf.”

  
She doesn’t feel profoundly empty when they leave tonight, not like she used to. The scab’s formed now, the cut doesn’t jump at the chance to reopen with every sharp object in its path. While the kettle boils, she might be able to finish off that eulogy.

-

_ I kept waiting until I had the perfect setup to write this eulogy for you, Rose. I wanted candles and nice music and hot tea and silence, but it never came. ‘Cause perfect moments don’t exist. _

_ It never felt like that when we had our moments, though. I will without a doubt remember those nights, sticky and sweaty and horny on the floor of the Shady 8 in Fort Lauderdale, as some of the best of my life– as shallow as that may sound. I’ll also remember our drives up there, just you, I, and Joni Mitchell on the radio. Something out of a lesbian romance novel that doesn’t exist. Maybe after I’m done writing this, writing my truth, I’ll write something like that. I’m coming for you, Jane, coming to steal your readers.  _

_ But I don’t need to write any other story but ours, exactly the way it was. Even with the parts that were ugly and unconventional and ones that I would’ve rather not happened, it was me, it was you, it was us. Now I’m actually putting our story to paper, I could edit it, I could just take out all the parts I don’t like, but then it wouldn’t be my truth anymore; and they say the way to long term sobriety is rigorous honesty anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t want to. I’m not a corporate sellout who changes the details of her story to appeal to more, thirsty readers. (Not that Jane is, of course. You know, maybe she is, I haven’t actually read her book.) I don’t want to change anything about our story, except the very ending.  _

_ And I wish I said I loved you more. ‘Cause I did– even when I didn’t want to, even when I was scared, even when I didn’t love myself. And I never said it to you, I waited until it was too late and I’ve written our whole love story in a book that was supposed to be a therapy-mandated obituary for you, to say it. I had to write out our whole love story and my whole grieving process, to in some way justify why I’ve felt it for ten years and why I’m finally just now saying it, but now I’m saying it.  _

_ I love you, Rose.  _

  
Maybe that’s the end. And maybe it isn’t. She’ll probably tinker with it 500 times before calling it officially done. But she feels  _ satisfied  _ with it. And across the table, she can see Rose’s smile. She mouths something to her,  _ elephant shoe?  _ Oh _ , I love you.  _ A gentle nod, and then she fades away with the kettle’s incoming scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Will I forget your name as the years go by  
>  When memories start to fade as memories do  
> I may regret forever, what I know I had to lose  
> That don't mean I won't be missing you  
> That don't mean I won't be missing you."_

**Author's Note:**

> _"What if I never get over?  
>  What if I never get closure?  
> What if I never get back all the wasted words I told ya?  
> What if it never gets better?  
> What if this lasts forever and ever and ever?" _


End file.
